


A Stormtrooper By Any Other Name

by BinahBee



Series: Once Upon A Time [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: M/M, Original Character(s), Pre-Relationship, Stormtrooper Culture, Storytelling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-29
Updated: 2017-10-13
Packaged: 2018-12-21 05:48:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 16,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11937627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BinahBee/pseuds/BinahBee
Summary: Stormtroopers are attacking their allies, Finn is arguing with dead people, and Poe is stuck in the friend zone.  It's life as usual in the Resistance.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Once upon a time, in a galaxy far, far away … I set out to write a nice boy-meets-boy love story, Star Wars style. A little angst, a little romance, something sweet and light. Sounds good, no? Unfortunately, at my age, I'm incapable of writing either angst or romance without humor, and I put in a line – one little line – for comic relief, and all of a sudden I'm writing a completely different and much darker story. So, after scrapping half the story I'd already written and inventing a whole lot of Stormtrooper customs, I finished my tale and posted it. So far, so good. Except, not only did I not get Finn and Poe together, I left Poe so deep in the friend zone that he couldn't find his way out if he had a map and a compass.
> 
> But that's okay, I told myself. I can fix this. I'll write a sequel! Just because I have to take all the cultural baggage I gave Finn in the last story and enable him to work through it and completely change his worldview, it should be no problem!
> 
> Okay, so maybe that was a bit much to bite off in a single story. I did my best … and once again it's pre-relationship. But they are moving closer to it, I swear! Just read it and you'll see! (Is there a special hell for writers who indulge in multi-story slow burns?) All I can say is, don't worry. I just have to write another sequel, and it'll all be fixed. Really. I mean it.
> 
> This is a sequel to “Once Upon a Time, a Thing Occurred”. I don't think you have to read that one first to enjoy this one, but it'll probably make this one richer if you do.
> 
> Rated T for language, alcohol use and adult conversations. No archive warnings needed.
> 
> Story will update weekly. Feedback and comments appreciated!
> 
> Because this is the Star Wars universe, I need to add that there are no Force-ghosts in this story, only memories.

“Over this way!” Poe said and Finn tramped hurriedly along to catch up with him. The sun was still above the horizon, perhaps two hours of daylight left. Not that it was easy to see, through the trees. 

When Poe suggested it, Finn had thought a walk through the forest outside of base might be a fun way to spend their afternoon off. Now, he wasn't so sure. Poe seemed to be enjoying the hike, energetically clambering over fallen logs and hopping onto (and off of) rocks. Finn, on the other hand, felt certain that the accali brambles were deliberately stabbing him in the shins at every opportunity. He dodged around another menacing clump of them and called to Poe, “Wait up!”

Poe obligingly stopped and waited, looking like he could go on all day. “Do you have any idea where we are?” Finn asked him.

“Well,” Poe said, “base is back that way. And there's a lake somewhere over this way. If we can find our way to it, we can wade around in the water for a bit before we head back.”

“'This way' and 'that way' isn't very specific,” Finn noted.

“Hard to know exactly how far we've come,” Poe admitted. “But I think specifics are overrated.”

“No they're not,” Finn muttered.

Poe snorted. “Do you want to head back now?” he asked.

“Yeah … kinda,” Finn admitted. “I want to be back before dark, anyway. Even if we get to the lake, we aren't going to have much time there.”

“Eh, okay,” Poe conceded, “you're probably right.” He turned and they started back the way they'd come.

“Let's go through here,” Finn suggested. “more direct towards the base. Or … not.” They stopped at a tangle of greenery. “We could just cut through the vines, maybe over here?”

“They're not vines,” Poe grinned. “They're bines.”

“Which are different from vines how?” Finn asked, tugging at the … whatever-they-weres.

“Vines coil around other plants and hold on with little shoots. Bines coil around other plants and hold on with their stems. And they're kind of hairy.”

Finn seemed dubious. “So these are vines and these here are bines?”

“No, those are lianas. Which are a type of vine.”

Finn gave Poe a disgusted look. “You're making this up.” He took a knife out and started hacking at the plants. 

Poe laughed. “I swear, you can check when we get back to base! Give up on that, man. It's just going to get worse from here. Let's go back toward the rock scramble.” Finn grimaced at his blade, now coated with sap and smears of vegetation. He pulled some leaves to wipe the worst away before putting it back in its sheath.

“How do you know this stuff?” Finn grumbled. “You're a pilot.”

“Yeah, but I grew up in a jungle with a Papi who thinks crawling through the underbrush is a fun way to spend an afternoon.”

Finn stopped dead. “You're pulling my leg,” he decided.

“Okay, I'm exaggerating,” Poe said, “but not by much. I'm from Yavin IV, originally. My parents had a farm and that was all cleared land, but it bordered on a jungle. I started getting lost in it when I was around four.”

Finn looked around, clearly contemplating being lost in a jungle at age four. “How'd you get back out?” he demanded, still suspicious that Poe was fooling with him.

“I told you, my Papi thinks crawling through the jungle is fun. He'd track me. Also, there might have been a bell involved. I think we came this way … yeah, though here.” He carefully pulled a thorny branch out of the way as he ducked past, then held it for Finn.

“There might have been a bell involved? What kind of bell is involved in getting lost in the jungle?”

“The bell my parents tied onto me so they could find me when I ran off,” Poe admitted. He evaluated some mucky ground, stepped over and around. “It was on a harness that fastened between my shoulder blades. I didn't figure out how to wriggle out of it until I was six.” He had to stop walking, then, because Finn was laughing so hard he couldn't follow.

“Do I want to know how they kept you from getting lost in the jungle before you were four?” Finn finally panted out.

“There was a fenced-in yard,” Poe said with great dignity, spoiled when he added, “Also, there might have been a leash involved. I was really good at climbing.”

Finn collapsed against a tree trunk. “So what does a kid do all day on Yavin IV, besides getting lost in the jungle?” he said, when he had collected himself.

Poe grinned. “I ran. I dug up earthworms and left them places my Mami would find them so she could pretend to be grossed out. I tried to ride the nerfs. I never succeeded, but I kept trying anyway. I played with Emmanuel – he lived at the next farm over and was a year old than me, and taught me a lot about how to get into trouble. I climbed every tree I could. We had this wonderful tree in our front yard, I spent hours up in its branches. I also fell out of trees some, which is how I broke my collarbone and got my first concussion. I did chores. I also skipped out on doing chores and argued with my parents about doing chores. That never worked out as well for me as just doing them, but never let it be said that I gave in easily.

“When I got older, I built a cave in one corner of my room and stuffed it with pillows and snacks and I sat in there and read for hours. My Papi got me the best, top-of-the-line flight simulator he could find and I spent hours and hours playing it. I liked building model ships, too, so I made those and painted them and arranged them all over my room. Papi and I built shelves just to store them. The blanket fort got disassembled years ago, but the models are still there. Maybe sometime if we get some leave, we could go back there and you can see for yourself. You'd like Yavin IV, I think. There are these old temples deep in the jungle, and I used to hike out to them and climb the pyramids and pretend I was a Jedi.” He smirked. “I think I'd make a lousy Jedi, but it was fun when I was a teenager. They're really beautiful, though. The times I've been back as an adult, I just sit at the top of the pyramid and look out on the jungle. You wouldn't believe the colors, especially in the middle of summer.”

Finn's expression was unreadable. “Does it bother you when I talk about this stuff?” Poe asked, suddenly worried that Finn might be made jealous by his reminiscence.

Finn hesitated a moment before answering. “No,” he said slowly, “I guess I'm just surprised, a little.”

“About what?”

“Well,” he delayed, “you sound like you were happy.”

“I was,” Poe smiled. “I had a great childhood. My parents were wonderful.”

“I'm sure they were,” Finn agreed.

Poe raised his eyebrows and waited for Finn to fill in the silence.

“It's just it sounds really lonely,” Finn finally admitted.

“I guess I felt lonely sometimes,” Poe said, “Everybody does. But mostly, no, I was fine. I had plenty of friends, growing up.”

“That's good,” Finn said, “I can't really imagine it, though. I mean, being all by yourself so much when you were so little. It was never like that, when I was a kid.” He laughed suddenly. “And man, when we went to the playground, there were _swarms_ of kids. _Everywhere_. There was always –”

“You had playgrounds?” Poe interrupted.

“Oh,” Finn said, “maybe you don't know about those. Playgrounds are these big yards with stuff to climb on and crawl through and run around –” 

“I know what playgrounds are,” Poe interrupted again. “We had playgrounds. I just never thought the First Order would've had playgrounds.”

Finn looked at him quizzically. “If you had thousands of children you needed to wear out so they'd go to sleep, what would you do?”

“I'd build playgrounds,” Poe admitted.

“We had _awesome_ playgrounds,” Finn said.

Poe's communicator chimed. As he fished for it, Finn's went off as well. “Staff meeting at 1700?” Poe said.

“Yeah,” Finn confirmed. “Nothing here on what it's about.”

“Guess we'll find out when we get there.”

“We're never going to get back to base in time,” Finn noted.

Poe sighed. “Let's get back to the clearing. I'll call for someone to come pick us up.”


	2. Chapter 2

“We've had a request for support,” Organa informed the command room, “from Fillin. They've been getting attacks by Stormtroopers, hit and run strikes on the mining operations scattered all over their system. I don't need to tell you how much materiel we get from Fillin, back-channel, of course.”

She pulled up video footage from the main doors of a mining compound. “It's not the usual way the First Order operates,” she went on, “the strikes have all been small, surgical operations. In and out, trash the facility, move on. The mining bases are largely automated, there's been little loss of life, but the cost in infrastructure is staggering.”

They watched as the recording played out, silently. An explosion rocked the installation, then another, and then forty white-armored Stormtroopers poured through the main gate, running in two disciplined lines, blaster rifles at the ready. “This is from Station Xi74, which got hit almost a month ago. The other mining stations were similar. Fillin has tried reinforcing the bases, without success. They've tried posting guard units at some of the more tempting sites. For the most part the First Order avoided the reinforced bases, but when they hit them, the guards were wiped out. Fillin doesn't have – Lieutenant Finn?”

The ex-Stormtrooper had stepped forward, brows furrowed and hand raised for attention. “Ma'am,” he said, “can we see that footage again?”

Organa gestured to the tech and the video feed played out again.

“Stop,” Finn ordered suddenly. The image froze. “Enlarge this bit, here,” he gestured and the tech obligingly magnified the image. “Can you pull up any pictures of the Stormtroopers from the ground assault at Enchinta?” he asked next. The tech typed and clicked and a new set of pictures appeared beside the first image.

“General,” Finn said, “that's a fake.”

“You think the footage is faked?” the General asked.

“Or the Stormtroopers are,” he said confidently. “Look at the helmets. About five years ago, the First Order started rolling out a new helmet design. They upgraded the communications and air filtration systems. Big improvement in technology. But they needed extra space to accommodate the new electronics. See the sharp flange on the helmets at Fillin? That's the old helmet design. The Troopers at Enchinta were wearing the new ones, with the more sloped edges.” He frowned. “The rollout was phased across sectors and took a few years to complete, but everyone was using the new equipment by last year. Except the footage from Xi74 shows the old design. So either Fillin sent us old recordings and fudged the time stamp, or someone's out there impersonating Stormtroopers, maybe using old equipment scavenged off of battlefields.”

Ackbar looked at Commander D'ne, head of computer systems. “Can you confirm the time stamp is correct?” he asked.

“I'll send it for review,” he promised.

“That may take a while,” General Sivtar said. “While they're looking at it, Lieutenant, can you tell us if you think those are real Stormtroopers or not?”

“Once more?” Finn asked the tech, and the clip started up at the beginning again. He grimaced. “Can't say. That's a standard formation, but the shot really wasn't long enough. I don't know.”

“We need to respond to Fillin, but we can delay for a couple days. This is only one of the recordings they sent us. D'ne, your team will go over them and look for any signs of tampering. Finn, I want you to view them all and give me your best estimate of who is under those masks. We'll reconvene this time tomorrow to decide on strategy.”

* * *

Finn stood to attention as the General entered the room.

“Alright,” she announced, “what have you got for us, Commander?”

Commander D'ne stepped forward. “We combed through the recordings, and it's a mixed result, ma'am. The time stamps all seem accurate. There are several ways they could alter them that we didn't test for – but we'd have needed more than twenty-four hours to catch those. However, a number of the recordings have been edited. Mostly, it appears to be splicing together footage from two or three different cameras. One recording, attributed to Rho32, was different. That was one of the ones that had audio as well as video, and the subharmonics were different from different splices. Based on the sound differences, we are not completely confident that the recordings were all from the same base. It's likely they were … but we can't be certain.”

“And yet,” Organa said, “the time stamps aligned?”

“Some of the segments, in Rho32 and in other recordings, don't have a time stamp at all.”

“Wouldn't that be standard procedure?” Sivtar asked.

D'ne shrugged. “Probably should be, but I've never seen an operation as large and spread out as Fillin, and using tech ranging from brand new to a couple hundred years old, that managed to truly standardize their procedures. As I said, it looks suspicious, but we have no proof of deliberate subterfuge.”

“Thank you, Commander,” said the General. “Lieutenant, what are your thoughts?”

Finn stepped up to the display console. “I viewed all the recordings, as you ordered, ma'am, and I don't think those were Stormtroopers. Can you pull up the recording from Eta3?” he added to the tech. “Forward to the 15.6 mark.” The assembled officers watched as a dozen ostensible Stormtroopers ransacked a control room. Over the next minute several more Stormtroopers trickled in and then the entire group formed up into two neat lines before trotting out at double time. “Out of all the footage I watched, this recording caught my eye because we have people who have been separated from the main group coming back to rejoin them. What I noticed is that I can't spot the squads and I should have been able to.”

He looked around the room and was met by blank stares. He tried again to explain. “The basic unit of Stormtrooper organization isn't the company, it's the four-person squad. It's heavily ingrained, to always be aware of where your squad is, stay with your squad, move with your squad. It's perfectly within the norm for a Captain to send individual Troopers off to do some task, but on entering the room, those Troopers should have automatically reoriented themselves to the rest of the squad, if possible moved to stand next to them.” Finn blinked against a rush of somatic memory, dizzied for a moment by the emptiness behind him where Slip should be, the emptiness to his left where Nines should be, and Zeroes behind him. “It's a subtle thing, an outsider might not catch it, but I should have been able to spot the squads, by their body language, and I couldn't. I saw twenty people working as a trained and disciplined unit, not five squads of four. I don't think those were real Stormtroopers.”

_Dammit_ , he thought. _I just told them I'm not one of them._

_Of course you're not,_ sneered Nines, in the emptiness beside him. _You'll never be one of them._

Finn's back itched with sweat. “But I'm sorry, ma'am. I have no idea who actually is inside that armor.”

“I appreciate your insights, Lieutenant,” the General said calmly. “How confident are you in your conclusions?”

He paused a moment. “I won't say one hundred percent, ma'am,” he said at last. “It's not a long clip, something could have gotten past me. But I'll say ninety percent certain.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant,” she said courteously. “Officers? Recommendations?”

D'ne stepped forward. “Ma'am,” he said, “if we accept Lt. Finn's estimation that those aren't really Stormtroopers, then we have three questions: who are they, why are they attacking Fillin, and what does Fillin really know about the situation?”

“You think Fillin may have known the Stormtroopers were imposters?” Sivtar asked.

D'ne grimaced. “They have more incentive than we do to scrutinize those videos. True, they haven't necessarily got an in-house Stormtrooper expert, but the fact that those tapes have been edited concerns me. What didn't they show us?”

Colonel Oumani, the Logistics Chief, stepped forward next. “Fillin's an extremely wealthy system in absolute terms, but they are cash-poor. All their resources are tied up in their infrastructure. They have tens of thousands of mining installations, but this has got to be hurting them, and it'll be hard for them to rebuild quickly. I'm actually wondering why they didn't squawk for help sooner, why their automated defenses have been so ineffective, and who else have they asked for assistance?”

“If they believed those were real Stormtroopers,” Finn volunteered, “we'd be the logical people to ask for help. But,” he added, “if they knew they weren't genuine, then the First Order is the logical place to go. The First Order isn't going to want fake Stormtroopers out there plundering potential allies.”

“If we tell Fillin they aren't real Stormtroopers,” Oumani asked, “are they then going to turn around and invite the First Order in to protect them from the fakes?”

“Fillin's kept well clear of the First Order since this began,” Sivtar said.

Intelligence Commander Karstairsshook her head. “Fillin's kept well clear of publicly aligning with the First Order since this began. We've got info to suggest they've been selling to them through channels, the same as they sell to us. They care about credits, not politics.”

“So, is this an attack on Fillin's resources by a rival mining conglomerate that wants to take out the competition, or by someone who wants Fillin to become an open enemy to the First Order, or an action by someone who isn't after Fillin at all, but wants to draw us into committing resources where we don't need to?” D'Ne asked.

“Or by someone trying to lure us into a trap, with or without Fillin's cooperation,” Karstairs said.

“We need to commit some resources,” Organa said firmly. “We cannot be seen to be sitting by while the First Order pillages them. We need to either take action to protect Fillin against the 'First Order', even if we know it isn't them, or we need to expose who is actually behind this. We'll lose too many covert supporters if we don't.”

“Have we identified any pattern to how they are getting hit?” Ackbar asked.

Commander Karstairs stepped up to a console, pulled up a file. A cloud of infinitesimal lights filled the projection space. “The first attack we've been informed of was 0.8 standard years ago. Here are the attacks as they've been reported.” The tiny lights began winking out, focused along one edge, but ranging throughout the cloud. “Just looking at transit times between hits, there have to be at least two different teams in operation, maybe more.”

“I notice,” Ackbar said, “they didn't send us any deep-space scans. Not one sensor reading. They must have some readings on approaching ships, and yet we have no idea what transport they're using.”

“Do we have any way to predict which systems will get hit next?” Sivtar asked.

“We can try,” Karstairs said, “but there are thousands of individual operations. Unless we are prepared to commit significant resources to cover a substantial number of locations, our chances are poor.”

“So let's focus on sites that have already been hit,” Dameron said.

“Except we don't have permission to focus on anything, yet. We'll have to inform Fillin and get their buy-in before we start sending people out to examine their facilities,” Sivtar said.

“If we get their permission,” Finn noted, “we run the risk of tampering with the evidence. Assuming someone on Fillin doesn't want us getting the whole story.”

“If we don't get their permission,” Ackbar said, “we are invading Fillin's sovereign territory. That, also, will not look good.”

“We'll send a team to Fillin,” Organa decided. “I want a diplomatic lead, an intelligence second, and a guard of infantry and X-wings. They'll go share our concerns with leadership in person, and request permission to investigate the damaged sites. We also need unedited recordings and,” she nodded to Ackbar, “their approach data. If we are denied these requests, we regretfully cannot assist them further. If we get permission, I want a team including intelligence and combat engineers, again with infantry and X-wings for backup, to go out to gather more information from whichever sites you recommend, Karstairs. Do we have anyone who knows mining operations?” The assembled leadership team murmured to each other. “Check your crews, find out if we have anyone who will know what they're looking at out there, add them to the ground team.”

“Captain Winona would be a good choice to lead the Fillin team,” Ackbar noted. The captain raised his eyebrows, but did not disagree.

“I concur, Admiral. Captain, come with me to the conference room, let's get your team chosen and get you en route as soon as possible.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

“Good luck,” Finn said, pulling Poe into a brief hug. “Watch your back out there.”

“You bet,” Poe replied. “Don't have too much fun staring at data points while we're gone.”

“You pilots, you just don't know what fun is! I'll have to teach you one of these days.”

Poe shuddered, mock horrified. “Nuh-uh. Us pilots, we're not smart enough for your fun. Think of us, soaring through the galaxy as you sit and analyze your rumors.”

“Party when you all get back?” Finn asked.

“Wouldn't miss it,” Poe lied. Historically, Poe had enjoyed parties. That had been before Finn.

When Poe, Jess and Snap had learned that Finn's idea of sexual courtship was to show up at a “designated hook-up spot” and leave with the first person in line, they had been dismayed. Worse still was the discovery that Finn thought being picky about who he went to bed with was bad manners. “He can't say no,” Jess said afterward, more than a little horrified. “And he has no idea how to get sex with someone he actually wants.” 

“I'll bet you twenty credits,” Snap said, carefully not looking at Poe, “that he doesn't even _know_ who he wants.”

“I'm not touching that bet,” Jess said.

Jess had set out to teach Finn how to flirt. Snap and Poe had set out to teach him how to say no. The first effort succeeded magnificently. The second … less so.

Finn, naturally outgoing and sociable, took to flirting like he was born to it. He was a bit embarrassed when he realized that people had been flirting with him since he'd arrived, all unnoticed. The others had to reassure him repeatedly that no-one had been offended by his ignoring their advances.

Teaching Finn to refuse offers progressed more slowly. Even after he mastered a half-dozen different ways to gently decline a pass, Finn remained convinced that it was inexcusably rude to turn down one person and then pursue someone else. “It makes it look like you didn't think the first person was attractive enough,” Finn explained. 

“Sometimes the first person _isn't_ attractive enough,” Poe had pointed out.

“So?” Finn said. “You can't go around _saying that_ to people!”

“Why not?” Snap said. “Haven't you ever been turned down?”

Finn wrinkled his brow. “No. That doesn't happen in the First Order. If you go to a hook-up spot, it's because you _do_ want sex. So why would you turn it down?”

“Well,” Poe said, “here people do turn it down.”

Finn frowned. “Turning someone down just because they don't look so attractive at first glance doesn't make sense, really. I mean, there have been plenty of times I looked at someone and thought they wouldn't be anything special and then they turned out to be amazing in bed. And there were other people I thought looked really hot and then found out they had no idea what they were doing. You never know, do you? And why miss out on the fun of discovering?” He gave them a serious look. “You ought to be more adventuresome with sex. You might like it!”

At least Finn had decided it was alright to refuse sex if he had no intention of sleeping with anyone at all. “Since you don't have designated hook-up spots here, it makes sense that you have to actually tell people if you're available or not,” he said. Snap and Poe praised him for his insight and privately sighed in relief.

The three friends did their best to run interference for him. If Finn could not say no for himself, they reasoned, they could still take steps to protect him from unwanted attentions. Finn tolerated their coddling for only a couple of weeks before he sat them down, pointed out that he was a grown man who had been sexually active for years, and told them to back off, because it had been months since he'd gotten any and he'd really had enough of celibacy.

He had that right, Poe acknowledged to himself, and stopped hovering possessively at Finn's elbow whenever anyone approached him after hours. Instead, when a prospective suitor closed in, Poe made an excuse and melted away, to watch from afar as Finn went to bed with almost anyone who asked him. 

Finn quickly developed a reputation for being “easy”, a term which made Poe wince every time he overheard it. Still more painful was the day when Finn overheard it, and came to Poe for an interpretation. “It means 'easy to persuade to have sex'”, he explained. “It's … not a compliment.”

“It should be,” Finn retorted. “It's sex. It's _supposed_ to be easy. You all make things way more  complicated than they need to be.”

Truth was, Poe knew he didn't have a leg to stand on. In his early twenties, he'd been out clubbing every weekend, which had resulted in more than a few one night stands. Of course, he hadn't been quite so _systematic_ about it as Finn seemed to be. Last night, it was a petite woman with golden skin and dyed-gold hair he met in the mess hall. She'd lured him in with a sly smile and a discourse on how she was redesigning deep-space sensors. Three nights before, there had been a woman from the infantry, as tall as Finn and almost as muscular. They'd talked blasters and maneuvers and the misery of day-long marches before Finn invited her back to his room. Last week, a lanky and self-assured young man from the logistics team caught his eye.

Finn hunted through logistics. Also through the engineering team, the armory, the programmers, the maintenance crew, the command center, the infantry, the kitchen staff and the file clerks. Pretty much every department, in fact, except intelligence. And the pilots, though the mechanics seemed to be held as fair game. Poe wasn't sure whether he should take that as a curse or a minor blessing. A little of both, perhaps.

He tried very hard not to listen to the gossip. Fun, they said. Skilled. Easy and low-drama. Attentive and enthusiastic. A snuggler, for sure. Poe told himself he really, really didn't want to know. Really, he didn't. And yet, he found himself listening anyway, when he could eavesdrop and pretend no-one knew he was listening. It was no-one's business, if he was curious.

Hell, why did he have to be curious? Finn wasn't his to worry about. In fact, Finn didn't need anyone worrying about him. Finn was doing just fine. With lots of different people, as often as he wished.

And now Poe would get welcomed back from another mission by Finn and a party. How had this become his life?

  


* * *

  


When the team arrived at Fillin, they were greeted with appropriate diplomatic courtesies and given comfortable rooms. Poe, having had some exposure to diplomatic operations before, assumed their rooms were bugged and declined to discuss business operations in private spaces. Fortunately for him, few people approached him. As commander of the X-wing escort, Poe's role on the ground was largely ceremonial – he needed to wear his uniform and look dashing and trustworthy, but he did not need to participate much in the discussions. The mission commander did most of the talking for the team.

If anything, Poe expected to have a couple days of semi-vacation, as he made polite small-talk with any politician who crossed his path and ate food ten times better than the mass-produced glop served up at the Resistance mess hall. It was a straightforward mission, really. Provide their data and conclusions, get direction from Fillin's leadership, and head home, either successfully convincing the Fillinese to allow the Resistance scope to investigate, or successfully convincing the Fillinese that they could manage the problem without the Resistance's services.

Sadly, that wasn't how things went. _Is it me?_ thought Poe. _Is there something about me that makes ground missions go awry? And if it isn't, can I claim it is just so I can get out of doing any more of them?_ Yes, the food was infinitely better than he normally got, but listening to politicians talk down to him got tedious quickly. Most of them seemed to assume that a fighter pilot, even a commander, was nothing but swagger and reflexes. What's more, the Fillinese Congress insisted on certain rigid protocols, both for the Resistance team to present their findings and for the Congress itself to examine them. 

Poe hadn't really thought their requests would be contentious – either Fillin wanted them to go after these “Stormtroopers” and would provide the needed support or else they'd decide they didn't want the Resistance poking into their private affairs and would tell them to get lost. Instead, Fillin wanted to argue. And deliberate. And debate. Poe entertained himself during the proceedings by sorting the politicians into groups based on their contributions to the discussion.

S everal politicians  truly seemed engaged with the inquiry. They earnestly viewed footage  and  asked intelligent questions.  In spite of this, none of them  was willing to  voice an actual opinion on a course of action.  Poe mentally labeled them  t he “Concerned Fence-Sitters”. Unfortunately, Congressional Chairman  Va'Savesty , Fillin's highest-ranking authority and the person who had  the final say on whether the Resistance should  investigate  or not , appeared to be  the head of the Fence-Sitting Committee.

A second group, not quite as large but definitely more vocal, indignantly disputed every point raised by the Resistance team. Disputation appeared to be their entire goal; they seemed utterly unconcerned that some of their objections violated the laws of physics. Poe found it frustrating to listen to them. If they didn't want the Resistance there, why not just say so and be done with it? Poe dubbed their contingent the “Obstreperously Obstinate” and attempted to tune them out while keeping a politely attentive expression on his face.

Perhaps the largest group were the “Agents of Other Agendas”. These politicians briefly expressed concern over the situation at hand and then went on to pontificate on other issues, including environmental regulations, the tax code, and labor laws. Poe clustered them based on their desire to talk about anything _but_ the attacks, rather than any concerted message in their speeches. He noticed that they seemed very intent on making their statements on behalf of different legislative issues, but didn't seem to particularly care if anyone else in the Congressional Hall was listening to them. Poe found them less annoying than the Obstreperously Obstinate, but still frustrating for the amount of time they wasted in diverting the discussion.

The group that Poe felt the most sympathy for were the “Security Mavens”. These legislators (most of them veterans, Poe suspected) clearly viewed the situation through a military lens and, of all the officials, were most likely to speak in favor of taking action. Over the course of several days, it became clear that Congressional Vice-Chairman Tarnel aligned most strongly with this group, which Poe took as a hopeful sign that perhaps he could influence the Chairman to get off the fence at some point. Unfortunately, the Security Mavens were not unified in their approach to military matters. Roughly half of them wanted the Resistance to conduct a full investigation and identify the culprits, and the other half wanted the Resistance to stay away from their mining bases, to keep their operations protected from prying eyes. As a result, they were less than effective at spurring the Congress as a whole to make a decision.

Last, but most certainly not least, were the individuals Poe merely identified as the “Oddballs”. What they lacked in numbers, they more than made up for in individuality. One spent several days diligently folding origami at his desk. Another fellow recited poetry for three hours, stopping precisely twenty-three seconds after the day's session officially ended. To Poe's astonishment, none of the other politicians seemed perturbed by this behavior.

As much as Poe enjoyed spending time with Finn, he felt profoundly grateful that his friend had been detailed to the investigation team instead of the diplomatic one. If he had been present, he would undoubtedly have had to stand up before the assembled politicians and defend his conclusions. It was patently obvious to Poe that the Obstreperously Obstinate would have latched on to Finn's past to discredit every word he said. As it was, Captain Winona simply defended their conclusions by stating this was the best work of the Resistance intelligence team, and who would know more about Stormtroopers than the Resistance?

It helped that they were willing to walk away from the table and Fillin's collective politicians knew it. “It is your decision,” Winona said succinctly. “You came to us for help and we have provided you with our best analysis. We are willing to go a step further and investigate this matter for you, to confirm our conclusions. But with all due respect to this august body, this does not seem to be our fight, regardless of superficial appearances. We have offered you our assistance out of a desire for good will between Fillin and the Resistance, but we do not have endless time and resources to devote to an issue that we believe to be outside our jurisdiction.”

“Alternatively,” said Congressman Ta'Kifink, one of the Obstreperously Obstinate, “this is a baseless attack on Fillin by the First Order, an attack which you provoked, and you are choosing to walk away from us in our time of need.”

Winona raised his eyebrows. “Sir,” he said, “you have yet to suggest any evidence that the Resistance provoked an attack on Fillin. Meanwhile, I have offered you all of our evidence that these criminals are not actually from the First Order. It is your prerogative to believe I am lying to you, but it is also my prerogative to decide that our delegation can be of no further use to you. I do not believe we have anything more to offer at this time. If you would like us to conduct additional investigations for you, please let me know before we leave. I expect we will be departing at 0700 tomorrow.”

He walked out of the room and Poe and the other Resistance officers fell into line behind him.

At 2114 that night, Captain Winona received a communique from the Chairman of the Fillinese Congress requesting the Resistance to continue investigations. The negotiations took close to five hours, but in the end, the Resistance agreed to continue investigations into those responsible for the attacks and Fillin agreed to permit a ground team to visit three damaged mining sites (so long as Fillinese representatives were present to oversee) and to provide unedited footage and approach data.

Poe felt greatly relieved when they were finally able to head home. 


	4. Chapter 4

Poe was tired and cranky by the time he returned to D'Qar. Usually, flying fixed any mood he'd worked himself into, but after a week and a half of Fillinese congressional debates, the cockpit just felt cramped and sweaty. He shut down his engines, released BB-8 from the astromech dock, and formally turned Black One over to the ground crew for refueling and maintenance check. Somehow, it seemed a long way down the ladder. Thankfully, he would not need to be present when Captain Winona debriefed to the General. He had already notified his own pilots that they would have their post-mission debrief at 1500. It would probably be quick. From the standpoint of the X-Wing escort team, the entire mission had been uneventful. BB-8 burbled a request to abandon him in favor of socializing with the other droids. Poe waved his permission and made his way out of the hanger. 

_A shower_ , he promised himself. _A long shower and clean clothes._ Maybe some food first, before the mess hall closed down the lunch lines. Probably not a whole lot of choices left, at this hour, but better than waiting until dinner. He trudged off to the cafeteria.

What was left of lunch was some slightly burnt bread and a lukewarm stew. What the hell, it was probably edible. He took a tray and plopped down at the table where Finn was polishing off what had almost certainly been a more appetizing meal. Finn took one look at his face and shoved an uneaten cookie onto Poe's tray.

“Thanks,” Poe said, dunking his bread, in case that would improve either the bread or the stew.

“How was the trip?”

“Exhausting.”

Finn frowned. “I didn't think it was that complicated a flight.”

“It wasn't. It's the politicians who were exhausting. I thought we were going to be there two days, maybe three. They kept us for over a week. We'd still be there if Winona hadn't put his foot down.”

Finn nodded solemnly. “You were gone so long, I started to think we should have tied a bell on you.”

Poe glared repressively. “Very funny.”

Finn piled his dishes for the kitchen line. “Come down to the hanger after dinner. We'll get you drunk,” he promised as he climbed off his bench.

“Yeah,” Poe said, not even attempting to muster enthusiasm. “I'll see you there.”

 

* * *

 

A shower, a brief nap, and an afternoon of mindless paperwork went a long way towards easing Poe's temper. By the time the post-mission party rolled around, Poe actually found himself looking forward to an evening of socializing. It was common for staff to gather in the hanger to socialize – it was one of the few indoor spaces that could hold a large crowd – but after a mission, people ramped up the energy a bit. A bar was set up in one corner, beer and home brew for sale. Another corner was left open for dancing. Tables and chairs were set up and crates were shoved together to provide more seating. Poe collected a drink and went looking for his friends. 

It wasn't hard to find them. Jess had pinned her hair up with sparkling clips. There had to be some hidden light source inside the little metal twists, to make them glitter like that. Snap was tipping his chair back and, once again, failing to fall over. In all the years they'd flown together and all the times he'd seen Snap inebriated, Poe had yet to see Snap lose his balance. Of course, Snap could absorb a _lot_ of alcohol before he got drunk, but Poe judged that he was only getting started. Finn, on the other hand, looked like he might have had a couple already. Normally talkative, Finn became downright garrulous when under the influence. He had draped his jacket over his chair, in the heat of the packed hanger, and Poe let his eyes linger on the back of it as he approached.

Poe had shown his old jacket to the quartermaster as soon as Finn went into the bacta tank, asking for help in finding a patch. The quartermaster had listened sympathetically, then disappeared into the storerooms, returning with a vintage pilot's jacket, a match for Poe's but so worn and tattered about the collar and cuffs as to be unwearable. She'd recommended cutting out the entire back panel and replacing the damaged one with whole leather, to make the patch inconspicuous. Poe thanked her, but when he got the ratty jacket back to his quarters, he'd picked apart the sleeves instead, freeing the ruffled leather strips and the red shoulder patch and carefully piecing them back together to fill the gash with diagonal brown and red stripes. Battle scars, he reasoned, should be flaunted, not hidden. Finn seemed to agree with him, or at any rate, seemed pleased with his work. He wore the jacket everywhere. If there was something odd about an infantryman assigned to the intelligence division wearing a classic starfighter pilot's jacket, no-one ever said anything in Poe's hearing.

Sure enough, when he got to them, he found Finn holding the floor with a tale about a training run involving blood-sucking insects and a blaster missing its power pack. He nodded cheerfully as Poe arrived but didn't interrupt his story, putting his drink down to hop up and down on one foot while pretending to scratch his ankles. Finn swore that he couldn't live up to the finest Stormtrooper tradition of storytelling, but it was hard for Poe to imagine anyone being _better_ able to hold an audience's attention. They were all used to Finn's stories by now – Snap was actively trying to learn the art of it – but it was still a pleasure to watch him.

Finn concluded his story and took a bow (a Resistance gesture he had learned from Snap) to the general applause of all within listening distance. He volunteered to make the next bar run and headed off to get their drinks. Poe watched as – Malik? Maarek? what was his name? an infantry lieutenant he vaguely recognized, anyway – sidled up to Finn and started chatting as they waited for their orders. Finn smiled and … stars and space, was he batting his eyelashes? But no, Finn was shrugging and smiling and shaking his head a little. Poe could almost hear the words: Not tonight, thanks, maybe another time? Poe made an effort to compose his face before Finn made it back to their table.

“Not going anywhere with that infantry fellow?” Snap asked, as Finn returned with the drinks.

“Nah,” Finn said. “I'd rather hang out tonight. I've got to get out early tomorrow with the transport.” He slouched into his seat, smirking at their expressions. “You all always seem so surprised when I turn anyone down. Did you think sex here is so irresistible?”

“Well,” Snap temporized, “not irresistible.”

“I assumed sex here is better than in the First Order,” Jess volunteered thoughtfully, “but maybe you prefer what you know best.”

Finn wrinkled his nose a little. “Oh, no. Resistance sex is definitely better,” he declared. “I mean, Stormtroopers are probably more skilled, on average, and definitely better at, y'know, taking directions during sex, but still, I think the advantages here outweigh that.”

Poe tried very, very hard to squash all the images that immediately burst into his mind. By their expressions, he guessed that Jess and Snap were doing the same. No, he decided after a moment, Snap was probably trying not to imagine things, but Jess appeared to be glorying in whatever she'd pictured. “What _exactly_ do you mean by that?” Jess asked, with a poorly-feigned expression of innocence.

“Well,” Finn said, warming up to his topic, “it's obvious Stormtroopers are going to be more skilled. Lots of people here seem to pair up, at least for a little while. But Troopers aren't supposed to do that. So, if you learn something new from every partner, and you have a new partner every time, it stands to reason Troopers are just going to have a much wider variety of skills and experience, right?”

_Damn it_ , Poe thought, _damn it! I don't want to know this!_

“And Troopers are definitely better at following instructions. You have to be,” Finn continued, with the earnestness of the more-than-slightly-buzzed. “If you're with someone new, you don't know what they'll like, right? So you have to pay attention to what they ask for, if you're going to give them a good experience. It's a matter of pride, really, to do a good job of it.” He looked puzzled. “It seems kind of odd, actually, that people don't do that so much here. I mean, wouldn't it apply everywhere, with a new partner? A lot of the women, especially, seem surprised by that.”

“It's different with women and men?” Jess encouraged.

Poe gazed down into the depths of his glass. _Maybe if I get really drunk, I can forget this conversation._

“Yeah, isn't it?” Finn said. “I mean, men have particular things they like, too, but when all's said and done, it's pretty easy to get men off. Who doesn't like blow jobs? But women are more … individual, I guess. You really need to pay attention, to know how to make it good for different women.”

“So true,” Jess purred and Poe looked at her sharply. _Don't even think about it, Pava_ , he thought. She wouldn't, would she?

“But on the other hand, there's things about sex here that would never happen in the First Order,” Finn said thoughtfully. “Like talking with your partner beforehand. Stormtroopers will talk in bed, but really, you don't get to know each other as _people_. I had no idea how hot that is, really knowing someone that way.”

Poe knew he was staring, but he couldn't help himself. A lengthy conversation at the bar counted as getting to know someone? That made it hotter? What would it be like for Finn to go to bed with someone he _really_ knew, actually cared about?

“There's no time pressure, either,” Finn went on. “I like that.”

“What,” Jess said, “you had time limits in the First Order? Twenty minutes and you had to get out of the bed, finished or not?”

Finn laughed. “Of course not! Can you imagine? But you had to be back in your bunk by bed-check so … it was something I was always aware of, anyway.”

_I have no idea what to imagine_ , Poe thought, but did not say. He had become careful not to express shock over anything Finn said about life in the First Order. Finn fit into the Resistance so well that the times when he didn't were always startling. 

“And sleepovers are the _best_ ,” Finn concluded. “I still feel grateful every time I get to sleep with someone afterward. There's nothing like it.”

_It's the intimacy that he likes_ , Poe realized. Sex as a means to achieve physical pleasure or tension release, that was nothing new to Finn, and nothing special. Sex as a means to connect with someone, as a way to experience intimacy, was entirely new and having discovered it, Finn craved it. _How has he been denying himself relationships?_ Poe wondered. _Does he have any idea what he's missing?_


	5. Chapter 5

Finn's role on the investigative team was more than decorative but less than decisive. He was, officially, the junior member of the intelligence team, assigned to provide any necessary input on normal Stormtrooper behavior. In point of fact, he was there to learn how a proper field investigation was conducted. 

Captain Swanem, the senior member of the team, was demanding and perfectionistic. Finn tolerated his idiosyncrasies with as much patience as he could muster. Certainly, he could do worse for a teacher, and he absolutely had done worse for supervisors. If he occasionally looked longingly at the combat engineers and the infantry, well … he could just keep his opinions to himself, couldn't he?

The infantry team moved as a polished unit. Finn wore a Resistance-issue blaster on his hip, and he had practiced with it enough to feel comfortable holding it, but as he watched the soldiers, his palms itched for his Stormtrooper rifle. He could feel its weight in his hands, each move to disassemble, clean, replace so ingrained he could do them in his sleep. He probably had done them in his sleep, a time or two. How long until those rituals faded from his muscle memory?

_You miss it, don't you_ _,_ Slip said, from behind his shoulder. 

_That's not who I am any more_ , Finn thought resolutely.

_So who are you then? 'Finn'? Please. We know you better than that. You know you better than that_ , Slip said.

_This is what I've chosen_ , Finn told himself. Or his ghosts. He wasn't quite sure who needed convincing.

_Who gave you the right to choose?_ Nines demanded. _It isn't your place to cho_ _o_ _se._

_I_ _do have the right to choose_ _,_ Finn thought.

_I didn't,_ said Slip.

_I'm sorry_ , Finn said. _I'm so sorry. I did my best._

_I know_ , Slip said. _I've forgiven you._

Nines said, _I haven't. You didn't deserve us._

_I gave you everything I had,_ Finn thought. _It wasn't good enough. It was never good enough._

_No,_ Nines agreed.  _You weren't._

Zeroes didn't say anything. He rarely did. His silence was expressive enough.

“Finn!” said Captain  Swanem and Finn scurried to attend him. “I want video of this entire area. Film it with the meter-bar showing.” Finn reset the camera's program to include distance and depth metrics. “What am I looking for?”

Finn paused and surveyed the landing zone. They had done one video pass while flying overhead, before their own landing gear obscured any marks on the surface. The ground was now disturbed by their transport shuttle and by the boots of the landing team. “You want measurements of the landing zone. Video of the surrounding area. The walls on this side, here. Measurements of the approach to the main doors.”

“Yes. All of that. What else?”

“Coverage of the area shown by the security cameras and the perimeter around them?”

“Correct. And?”

“... Debris from the explosion of the doors?”

“Won't hurt to have record of that, but the combat engineers will be primarily responsible for determining the direction and force of the charge that took out the doors.”

“Footprints?”

“Hopelessly fucked by us marching around here. Not to mention anyone else Fillin sent out to see the site before we got here.”

“I don't know what else,” Finn admitted.

Swanemlooked smug. “Burn marks. Depending on the location, color and depth of burn marks, we can make an estimation of which engines were used by landing ships.”

“How can we tell which engines were from Fillinese ships? How would we know which ones were carrying the attackers versus which ones were legitimate business?”

“We don't. But, supposedly, Fillin is providing us with their approach data, and this will give us a way to cross-check. If we have recordings here, and recordings at the other two sites we're going to, and we have consistent signatures across locations, we can narrow it down. Also, we're tapping Fillin's communications to determine which ships they are using right now.”

Finn knew better than to ask if they had permission to tap Fillin's communications. He set off with the shoulder-mounted camera, diligently sweeping the field of view to encompass every inch of the landing field and exterior doors.

While he worked, the combat engineers were making their own videos of the compound doors and, as if the videos weren't enough, they actually pulled out measuring tapes and began documenting distance and vector of various fragments. Why this was an important supplement to the videos, Finn couldn't begin to guess.

Inside the corridors of the mining compound, Swanem began grilling Finn on details of Stormtrooper formations. How fast is a walking advance? How fast for running? What is the correct distance between Troopers in line and what is the correct spacing between parallel lines? On approaching a locked door, who fires, with which weapons, in what order? 

Swanem lifted the camera out of his hands and made Finn demonstrate pace and location for him. Accompanied by no-one, Finn found himself re-enacting the ground assault, which made his head spin. He could almost hear Phasma's nasal voice, flattened by the helmet mikes, as he ran, pantomimed shooting, ran again. 

He didn't like it at all. He could feel his armor locking around him, weighting his legs as he ran. Worst of all was the dizzying moment when he swung around and his eyes miscalibrated, compensating automatically for a helmet that wasn't there. He wondered later if, looking at the footage, he'd be able to see what his face had looked like under the helmet. _My Stormtrooper face._ He had never known before, and he was entirely certain he didn't want to know now.

Finn ran through the entire assault four times, videoed by Swanem – disembark from the shuttle, advance to the doors, wait for the two blasts shown in Fillin's recording, run down the hallways, into the control room, fire on the computers, smash them with combat batons, regroup, retire. The first time Finn did it, he was awkward. The second time felt frighteningly natural, the third smooth. The fourth … well, the fourth time almost felt like a dance, each movement choreographed and implemented in sequence. The weight of the invisible assault rifle grew heavier in his arms each time. When Swanem announced they were done, Finn had to stop a moment before deliberately saying, “Yessir”, a Resistance courtesy. A crisp “Yes, Captain” had almost slipped out. By Swanem's expression, Finn suspected he might have heard it anyway.

_Dammit_ , Finn thought. _That's not fair! Don't take me back there! I've left that behind me. Don't bring it to life again! And you can just shut up,_ he added to his own personal retinue of ghosts. _Leave me alone._

_Why would we want to do that?_ Nines asked.  _We're your squad. Where you go, we go. Isn't that how it's supposed to work?_

_We'll never leave you,_ Slip assured him.

“What would you like me to do next, sir?” Finn asked, to drown out the crowd.


	6. Chapter 6

“Hey, Finn,” Poe said and slid into the seat across from him. Finn obligingly moved his breakfast tray to make space for Poe's. His eyes looked puffy. “Did you sleep okay?” 

“Eh,” Finn said eloquently and drank his caf. 

Poe grunted and applied himself to his own mug. “Have you been feeling alright?”

“Yeah?” Finn said.

“You don't look like it,” Poe said frankly.

“I'm okay,” Finn said. “I just need to get laid. I've been too busy to have anyone over.”

Poe made himself eat a spoonful of something. It tasted bland and starchy. _I'm not going to ask_ , he decided. “You can't sleep if you don't get laid?” he heard himself say. _Dammit, I wasn't going to ask. I need more caf._

Finn scrubbed at his face. He looked embarrassed, which was the last thing Poe expected, given Finn's blasé attitude towards sex. “It's fine,” he muttered. “I can sleep.”

“You worry me, sometimes,” Poe said, shaking his head.

That caught Finn's attention. “Nothing to worry about, seriously,” he said. “Honest. Nothing wrong, really.”

“You'd tell me if there was something wrong, wouldn't you?” Poe demanded.

“Yeah,” Finn promised. “I'd tell you.”

Poe sighed. “What's on your schedule today?”

Finn shrugged. “The usual. Analyze our tapes from the mining sites. Wait for the damn recordings to come in from Fillin. Analyze tapes some more. I have no idea what's taking Fillin so long to get them to us.”

“I know exactly what's taking them so long,” Poe said, “and Force, I hope I don't have to go back to get them in person.”

“If you do, we'll definitely do the thing with the bell. Why a bell, by the way?” Finn asked suddenly.

“What?”

“Why a bell? Why not an electronic tracker? It would have made it a lot quicker to find you.”

“I don't know,” Poe said, surprised. “I never thought about it. I suppose because bells don't run out of charge and trackers don't make enough noise to scare wild animals away.”

“Any wild animals on Fillin?”

“Do Congressional aides count?”

“Possibly.”

“Better stick with the bell, then.”

  


* * *

  


As much as Finn hated to admit it, Captain Swanem had been right. The burn marks were useful.

When Finn had started doing work for the Resistance Intelligence team, his first job had been answering questions about First Order training and strategy. He had felt proud, useful. The only Stormtrooper to defect to the Resistance team, his insights and memories were invaluable, albeit limited in scope to the experience of the rank-and-file soldier. He talked for months, doing his best to answer all questions put to him about even the most mundane subjects.

It wasn't until he had been with the team for over six months that he started to get access to pieces of the Intelligence database and realized the truth: the Intelligence crew already knew everything he was telling them. Well, ninety-five percent of it, anyway. The hours they had invested in collecting his testimony served two purposes. Firstly, it enabled them to double-check (and triple-check and quadruple-check) information they already had. Intelligence was never satisfied with data from only one source. Secondly, it enabled them to double-check _him_. Despite the fact that Finn's self-sacrifice at Starkiller had won him the trust of the majority of the base, Intelligence considered it a matter of professional honor to suspect everyone. The truly new information Finn contributed to the database was almost incidental.

Well, perhaps not incidental. The little tidbits they had harvested from his answers got tagged in the database as “novel information”, “prospective leads”, and “to be verified”. All different ways of saying, “we'll believe it after we double-, triple-, and quadruple-check it”. At first Finn felt offended that they had wasted so much of his time, deceived him into feeling he was contributing when in fact, he was adding so little to their knowledge. Hell, Finn never wanted to point a blaster at anyone again, if he could help it, but he'd have been more use on the front lines than sitting in that interview room, telling them things they already knew. 

Still, if that's what they wanted from him, he would do it, and that did seem to be what they wanted. It came as a revelation when he realized how very much Intelligence valued those repetitions of facts. (The day Klodny bounced out of his chair and shimmied around the room chanting, “Yes, yes, YES!!” because he'd gotten confirmation of the dormitory size on the base at Xyzzy helped a lot.)

“We deal in rumors,” his co-worker Looiz had explained kindly, the synthetic voice of her translation box a beat behind the warbling coos of her own language. “Do you know how much a rumor is worth? Nothing! I can give you ten rumors right now and invent every single one of them, especially if you pay me. What is more, I can tell my rumors to ten different people and now you have ten sources all confirming your rumor. It is not good enough. We can not send people to get killed on the strength of rumors.” She waggled her … Finn had never figured out if he was supposed to call them arms or tentacles, but he'd been too embarrassed to ask when he first met her and now figured they'd known each other too long for him to admit to ignorance. 

Looiz had been assigned to the Fillin team along with Finn. Her expertise was in forensic accounting and Finn struggled to keep up with her when she started speaking in mathematics, even though she was obviously simplifying for him. The times he watched her debate with  Havenin, who was a financial analyst, left him almost seasick, as cursors jumped around on spreadsheets faster than he could follow them. Mercifully, neither of them expected him to keep up with those conversations.

Finn himself was settling into the Intelligence team in a more anthropological role, primarily offering input on First Order thinking and decision-making. However, Commander Karstairs, head of Intelligence, had decided he would benefit from cross-training. Hence his assignment to the Fillin team and its field investigation.

The field team had examined three sites in the Fillin system – Tau93 **,** Kappa124 **,** andNu45 – with Fillinese observers hovering over their shoulders the entire time. The watchers had not attempted to steer the Resistance team's efforts, but had firmly refused access when they looked too closely at the computer systems. Finn knew for a fact that Captain Swanem had gone in with every intention of siphoning data out of the computers. He _thought_ the Captain hadn't had an opportunity to do it, with the observers watching so closely, but he wouldn't have placed any bets against Swanem, even so. His blustery and self-important exterior persona hid one of the most devious minds Finn had ever encountered.

When Swanem has ordered Finn to film around the landing areas, had he known what Finn would find? At  Tau93 and Nu45, he found nothing. At Kappa124, he found pay dirt. The security cameras there showed that a full complement of forty Stormtroopers had charged the main entrance, killed the guards inside, and blasted through the inner doors. Surely, the First Order hadn't landed one set of troops, lifted off, and landed a second set. If forty Stormtroopers were needed to take the target, it would have been foolish to land twenty by themselves, exposing them to enemy fire they were inadequate to defeat, while waiting for the next ship to land. There must have been two atmospheric assault landers coming in simultaneously. Top-notch pilots could have fit two AALs onto Kappa124's landing pad (and make no mistake, the First Order had some excellent pilots), but not without crowding one of the Landers against a jumble of rocks piled along side of the deck. There were no scorch marks on the rocks; there had been no AALs.

Finn typed up a full report. He included recordings of the area, the dimensions of the landing field, the dimensions of AALs, data on the approach pattern of AALs and the required space to fold their wings, an analysis of the types of rocks in the dump heap and an appendix on the probable effects of extreme heat on those rocks. It was, he thought, a good report. Finn sent it to Captain Swanem with the push of a button and rolled his shoulders in a luxurious stretch. 

“Want to see the credits?” Looiz chirped.

He raised his eyebrows. “What credits?” 

“Repair proposal for Theta1057.”

Finn dragged his chair over to her terminal. Looiz shivered in her own seat, a sure sign of excitement. “Okay, lay it on me,” he said. Just because money matters gave him a headache was no reason not to _try_ to understand it.

Looiz pulled up a letter marked “CONFIDENTIAL” with an attached spreadsheet. She expanded the spreadsheet to take up her entire screen. “Take a look,” she invited, aiming three of her eye stalks at the screen. The other three twined about each other to take in Finn's reaction.

“I really don't know what I'm looking at,” Finn said dryly.

“Here,” she said. She scrolled through two screens of line items before finding the total, an eight-digit figure.

“That's a lot,” Finn hazarded. Since arriving at the Resistance base, he had gained some experience with credits but he still lacked the gut-level sense of value that most others seemed to have.

“Yah,” Looiz hummed, her best imitation of the Basic word. “And multiply that by all the bases that have been hit. But that is not the important part. Look here.”

Finn obligingly looked, but … “Tell me what I'm seeing.”

“Financing!!!” Looiz said.

“Financing?”

“Financing!!!”

“You're going to have to explain why that's exciting.”

“They are financing the repairs!”

“Still not seeing the excitement, here.”

“It is another trail to trace!”

“I'll leave you to it,” Finn said. He always did admire competence.


	7. Chapter 7

Finn applauded quietly in the privacy of his own quarters. “Very nice!” he said, as Snap took a bow at the end of his story.

“Thanks,” Snap said proudly. “I've been working on it for a while.”

“It's definitely not the way I would tell it, but I think it works.”

“How would you have told it?” Snap asked.

Finn frowned thoughtfully. “You balanced out two different viewpoints instead of just the hero doing most of the talking. I don't think I ever heard a story told that way. It's an outside narrator, usually, and never more than one viewpoint if the hero narrates in first-person. Two makes it more complex and harder to follow. I think you pulled it off,” he added hastily, “but maybe add some more physical mannerisms to each character in addition to the voice changes, make it extra clear who's speaking.”

“Mmm,” Snap said, “Maybe twitch my hands, like this?”

“That could work,” Finn said. “I had some trouble following the bit with the dream in it, especially, so you should definitely put in something more there.”

“I wasn't sure how to switch my voice for that. What would you do, to tell about a dream?”

“I don't know,” Finn admitted, “I'd have to think about that. I think I'd probably sprawl on a bunk while I talked about it, to emphasize that it was only a dream and not real life. But we told stories in the barracks, not out in public. I don't know how I'd do it if I were telling a story in the hanger. Dreams didn't usually figure into our stories. There's more focus on people interacting with each other and action occurring.”

“Dreams are big plot devices in stories back home. They always mean something. They really don't mean anything to Stormtroopers?”

“Not like that,” Finn said, “though I was taught that the most gifted storytellers can dream into the past and a few can even dream into the future. That's how they know their stories are true.”

“Did you ever meet anyone like that?” Snap asked.

Finn hesitated. “There were a couple of guys I heard … when they told stories, you really believed them. But I don't know what they dreamed. What do dreams mean where you're from?”

“Usually, they're messages from the gods that people don't understand until too late.”

“I had a weird dream the other night,” Finn said thoughtfully. “About Rey.”

“What was it?”

Finn grimaced. “I was walking through a forest, here on D'Qar, I think. I was lost, but I wasn't scared. I don't know why. Then all of a sudden, Rey is there, sitting on the trunk of a big, fallen tree. I think, 'Maybe she's lost, too', so I go over to check on her. I'm going to ask her if she's okay, but before I can say anything, she looks at me, really serious, and says, 'Show me your back.'” He shrugged. “I take off my jacket and turn around and lift up my shirt so she can see my back. I just stand there, waiting, but she doesn't say anything. After a while, I wonder if she's even still there, so I pull my shirt back down and turn around again, and there she is, still sitting on her tree trunk and looking stern. I ask her, 'Is it okay?' and she looks like she hasn't made up her mind, but finally she says, 'All right. You can go on.' Then she turns around and climbs off her seat and disappears into the forest. I wanted to follow her, but there was the tree trunk in the way, which shouldn't have been a real barrier, but somehow I knew I couldn't climb past it. And then I just looked around and felt lost in the forest. I started getting scared, and then I woke up.”

“I have no idea what that means,” Snap admitted.

“Yeah,” Finn sighed. “Me either.”

  


* * *

  


“What do you mean, called off?” Finn demanded, forgetting for a moment their relative rank.

“I mean,” Swanem said dryly, “the investigation has been called off. Fillin has advised us that they do not require our assistance any further.”

“They know who did it?” Looiz asked.

“If they do, they didn't tell me,” Swanem said. “Take the rest of the afternoon off. We'll have your new assignments in the morning.” He nodded to them and ended the call.

The rest of the afternoon was only an hour and a half, but Finn appreciated the time anyhow. He logged out of his terminal.

“That is it?” Looiz demanded. “You are quitting?”

“Didn't we just get ordered to quit?” Finn asked.

“No,” she said decisively. “We got told that Fillin wants us to quit.”

Finn mentally reviewed the conversation with Swanem. “You're right,” he said. “We didn't get ordered to quit. We got ordered to take the afternoon off. Which I'm going to do. I'm wiped.”

“You are boring,” Looiz accused. “You lack curiosity.”

“Don't think anyone's ever said that about me before,” Finn mused. 

“Also, I will be very lonely staying here by myself.”

“I've left you here before, on late nights.”

“It is very difficult to focus when there is no-one around.”

“I thought you said you couldn't think if it was too noisy.”

“That was only when your chair was creaking.”

Finn took a deep breath and blew it out. “So why, exactly, do you want to keep working on this, when we could go out and sun ourselves for a few hours?”

“I have put in so much work already,” Looiz said quietly. “And I have not found the answer.”

“I won't be any use to you in financial investigations,” Finn said, already feeling himself giving in. “I can hardly read your spreadsheets. And we never did get that approach data.”

“You could write a program for me,” Looiz said. “A cross-document data search.”

He probably could do that. Finn dropped back down into his chair with a resigned sigh. “What do you want me to look for and where do you want me to look?”

Looiz wriggled happily. “Banking records. I followed the trail! I want to see who holds the loans for all the repairs.”

“All of them?” Finn said, aghast.

“Yes, yes! All of them! We must have a complete data set.”

“And where are we supposed to access these loan records?”

“They are registered through the Interplanetary Financial Hub for the quadrant.”

“I don't suppose this is publicly available information,” Finn muttered.

“It is available to any member financial institution.”

“And are we a member financial institution?”

Looiz waggled her limbs expressively. “I can make us look like one.”

  


* * *

  


“I feel like an idiot,” Finn complained.

“You are not an idiot,” Looiz said encouragingly, “you are only ignorant.”

“Thanks. That makes me feel better.”

Looiz hummed with pleasure. “You are very helpful.” 

Fortunately, Looiz was not overly fond of physical contact. Finn thought if she had patted him on the head, he'd probably have regressed completely and whined for a snack and a nap. _How did I end up staying until the evening when I had the afternoon off?_ he wondered. “I'm sorry, Looiz, but I'm getting hungry and the mess hall is going to close. I have to call it a night.”

“Of course,” she said indulgently. “Thank you for your help.”

“You're welcome.” Finn hauled himself to his feet and stretched his back. “How late are you staying?” She made an indeterminate noise, which Finn interpreted to mean “until I feel like stopping”. She didn't need nearly as much rest as he did. “Good luck with it,” he said.

She waved goodbye, a human mannerism used almost universally on the base, and returned her attention to her screen, where she was busy mapping  the ownership of shell corporations.

Finn  snagged a couple  of  rolls and a piece of fruit out of the mess and  headed back to his room. It would have been unthinkable to eat in the barracks in the First Order, but no-one seemed to care here.

Back in his quarters, Finn set the food on his small desk and started peeling out of his clothes. His jacket went onto a peg on the wall, the boots at the foot of the bed. Shirt, pants and socks got bundled into a laundry bag. He sat on the bed, trying to muster the energy to do his evening stretches. _I'll just lie down for a minute_ , he thought.

  


* * *

  


Finn woke in the middle of the night, chasing the wisps of a dream he couldn't remember. After an hour of failing to fall asleep, he ate the food he'd left out the night before and trudged back down to the analysts' office.

“Is it morning already?” Looiz asked as he entered.

“Nah, couldn't sleep,” Finn said. “Gimme something to do.”

“Come here,” she ordered. “This is what I have so far. There are six different banks that bid on loans for the repairs. Different banks won different bids.”

“You can bid on loans?” Finn asked, confused.

“You can bid on anything.” Looiz said. “In this case, the bid is on interest rates and other terms of the loans.”

“Okay,” Finn said, “I guess that makes sense.”

“The majority of the bids have been won by these four banks. The total loans for all four is in the tens of billions of credits.”

“Is any one bank preferred over the others?”

“Slightly, but not significantly. In some cases, they appear to have come in with very similar bids.”

“Collusion?” Finn guessed, because he might not know much about finance, but he certainly understood alliances.

“Better,” Looiz said. Her voice sounded smug even through the translator. “All four are owned, through intermediaries, by the same parent corporation. A parent corporation that is generally believed to act as a money laundering operation for a number of unsavory Outer Rim gangs.”

“Are you suggesting that an Outer Rim gang wanted to impersonate Stormtroopers in order to smash up mining colonies? That seems … improbable.”

“It is highly improbable. Unless they were paid to do so, in which case it becomes very probable.”

“Okay, so who paid them to do it?”

“I am still working on that.”

“Send me a link to the files,” Finn sighed, as he turned on his computer.

  


* * *

  


It was Swanem who provided the final break in the case. He entered the analysts' room looked as dapper as usual – unlike Finn, who was already dragging by the time the workday started. “Long night?” he asked.

“Sir,” said Finn, for lack of anything better to say. Looiz obviously didn't feel the need to say anything at all.

“Did you at least find anything useful?” he asked next.

“We found things of interest,” Looiz offered.

“Show me,” Swanem ordered. Maybe, Finn thought, he was as invested in the investigation as they were.

Looiz scrolled through her data, commenting as she went. She had organized it, Finn noted, exactly as she would if she were writing a report. But then, she had worked with Swanem a lot longer than Finn had. Perhaps she had expected this conversation.

Swanem folded his arms and stared at the floor. Finn would have bet he was mentally re-organizing all the material Looiz had just presented. “Outcome,” he announced. “Profit for bank. Outcome: Debt for Fillin. Outcome: Discrediting political leadership. Outcome: Weakened economy.” He looked up at Looiz and Finn. “The Fillinese Congress is gridlocked over this. They have informed us they do not want us to investigate. They have passively blocked us from access to data that might identify culprits. Someone knows more than they should about what we will find. The responsible party will benefit from the political instability. Research who is losing face politically, and who is gaining power. Who is allied with the winning party, and who is financing them? Who in Fillin will benefit in power or money from the instability? Who can afford to fund this, or has preexisting ties to the banks or the gangs?” He pointed his finger sharply at Looiz. “But. Research it on your own time. And you –” he added to Finn. “Never mind. Go to bed.”

Finn burned with shame, but couldn't argue he'd be much use to anyone today. “Sir,” he said again. He offered Swanem an apologetic salute and retreated to his quarters.

The residential block was deserted when Finn got there, everyone else at duty stations. His room had no window or any way to mark the time – Finn used his communicator as his clock and alarm. Normally, that didn't bother him at all, but now, ordered to bed when he should be awake, the bedroom felt like some bizarre pocket that existed outside of time. 

Finn set his communicator on the desk, undressed, and went through the bedtime routine he'd neglected the night before. In the fresher mirror, he could see exhaustion under his eyes. 

_Funny_ , said Nines. _Traitors look just the same as everyone else._

_Enough_ , Finn told Nines' ghost. _I know_ _already_ _. You_ _won't_ _ever_ _forgive me for betraying the First Order._

_Fuck the First Order_ , said Nines. _I won't_ _ever_ _forgive you for betraying_ _ **us**_ _._

_I had to leave,_ Finn said. _I had to._

_No you didn't,_ said  Nines. _We stayed._ _You could have stayed with us._

_I couldn't,_ Finn insisted. _I didn't deserve to be reconditioned._

He could feel the weight of another gaze. _We didn't deserve to be abandoned_ , Zeroes said quietly. _You left us alone._ _No one deserves that._

_I'm alone,_ Finn said, _do I deserve that?_ For once, the ghosts said nothing.

Finn studied his reflection. _My Stormtrooper face?_ he thought. _My Resistance face?_ How would he ever know if they were different? “Once I heard a story,” he murmured to himself, “about a man who wasn't here and wasn't there. A man who walked and talked, but was less solid than a ghost. Once, there was a man like that, and when he was here, he clung to what wasn't real, and when he was there, he released what he should have held.” 

Finn turned away from the mirror and flopped on his bed. His narrow bed, wedged into a tiny room with a tinier fresher. He rolled over and stared at the wall, so that he did not have to see the barren apartment, with too much space for one man.

  



	8. Chapter 8

“It was the Vice-Chairman,” Finn said. He and Poe were sitting outside the hanger, past the paved landing pads, where the trimmed-down greenery gave way to jungle. The sun was still up, but only barely.

“Huh?” Poe said.

“The Vice-Chairman. Of Fillin. He cut a deal with the gangs, using the banks as intermediaries, to attack the mining compounds. At least,” Finn added, “that's what we think happened.”

“That makes no sense,” Poe said. “It's weakening his people.”

Finn smiled sadly. “It makes no sense to you. Obviously makes sense to him. Weakened the Chairman, looks like Tarnel's using that to make a power grab. Looiz hasn't finished digging. We might not be able to get all the files we'd need to prove it. But that's where the evidence is pointing.

“That's crazy,” Poe opined. “But I suppose it fits right in with the rest of the craziness there.”

“Yah.” He stared out into the greenery encroaching on the edge of the flight deck.

“Finn, what's going on with you?”

“Nothing, really.”

“No, not nothing. You're looking more ragged every time I see you. And don't tell me you just need to get laid.”

“Well, kinda,” Finn muttered. Poe gave him his best 'cut the crap' glare and Finn finally relented. “It's just … I sleep better if there's someone else there. Sometimes, the space around me feels too empty. It's worst at night. I lie in my bed and no one is rolling over or farting or snoring and it feels like I've done something wrong, to be left alive by myself. I know I did what I needed to do,” he added hastily. “It just doesn't feel that way, at night.”

He fiddled with the buckle on his boot. “I suppose I ought to move out of my room. Get reassigned to a double, or better yet, a quad. I'm kind of afraid that'll be worse, though, because …. it won't be the right people. I don't know. It doesn't make a lot of sense.”

“Who are the right people?” Poe asked quietly.

“My squad. I don't think I spent more than a few hours away from them since I was twelve years old. Slip left first,” he continued, “and I left Nines and Zeroes, but still. I don't even know if Zeroes is still alive. It wasn't supposed to be like that. We were supposed to be together for the rest of our lives.” He looked over at Poe. “Have you ever felt like that?”

“I've … lost team members before,” he said slowly. “The grief eats at you for a long time. It never fully goes away. That's … you know I defected to the Resistance, too? I was in the Republic's Navy, and when I couldn't stomach what the high command was doing, I deserted. I'd be court-martialed, if I ever went back. Well, would've been, before Starkiller. When there was still any Republic to speak of. I think it might be different, though. For one thing, some of my people deserted with me. I wasn't the only one so angry. And for another … we weren't … we were a team, and we were tied together, but I don't know if it's the same way you were. Certainly it wasn't from so young.” Poe pulled a few blades of grass, started weaving them together. “Do you ever wish you could go back?” he asked, fingers bending and pinching the stems. He looked over at Finn, silent beside him.

“No,” Finn said eventually. “There's no going back. What I broke, I can't ever rebuild.” After a few minutes, he added, “Do you know Nines tried to kill me?”

“Wait, Nines, your squadmate?”

“Yeah, Nines, my squadmate. On Takodana.” Finn looked rueful. “There I was, running around without any armor, without a helmet, my face out for anyone to see, and Nines is the one who saw it. He screamed at me, called me 'traitor', swung on me. At the time, I thought he was furious that I'd betrayed the First Order, but now I wonder if it wasn't more personal. If it wasn't that I'd betrayed _him_. Him, and Zeroes, and even Slip. There's really no way to unbetray someone, is there?”

“How did you betray him?” Poe asked.

“By leaving,” Finn said simply. “By leaving him and Zeroes, when they'd already lost Slip, and that wasn't Slip's fault, but I _chose_ to leave.”

Poe's grass stems kept slipping out of alignment. “I'm sorry you're hurting,” he said finally. “I'm sorry you feel alone.”

Finn shrugged, discomfort written across his face. “I brought it on myself.”

“You didn't do anything wrong, choosing your morals over your squad,” Poe tried.

“Yes, I did. It just would have been even more wrong if hadn't done it.” He looked at Poe ruefully. “You're probably the last person I should be having this conversation with.”

“I'm your friend,” Poe said. “You aren't alone here, even if you feel like it sometimes.”

“Thanks,” Finn said simply. “I appreciate that. I know … I know I have friends here. Hell, I have more friends here than I did in the First Order. Slip was my friend, I guess, but Nines and Zeroes never were, for all they were my squadmates. But squadmates is different than friends.”

“So how is it different?” Poe asked, because he had learned, Force how he'd learned, not to assume he knew what Finn was talking about. He pulled some longer blades of grass, replaced the shortest ones, and started again.

Finn gave his question the thought it deserved. “Squadmates are … there. Always there. Whether you like them or hate them, they're at your shoulder all the time. And you count on that. They are a part of you. It's … I suppose it's more intense than friendship. I'm not sure how to explain it.

“When I was a kid, I knew them all, Nines and Zeroes and Slip. Slip was in my creche, we grew up together. I'd met Nines and Zeroes, though I didn't know them so well. Then when we were twelve, there was a ceremony. All the kids our age, with the teachers and the younger cadets watching, and older cadets in their squads lining the arena. They called us up, step forward, and older cadets escorted us into our places, showed us where to stand. And we stood at attention, so proud we'd been assigned a squad. We were _real_ cadets now. We didn't even go back to our old barracks. We marched from the arena to our new barracks, our new bunks lined up with each other. We never slept apart again. We trained together. We ate together. We were supposed to live and die together. It was like we … became new people, part of each other, as part of a squad.

“You said … you said I chose my morals over my squad. But my squad would have said putting the squad first should have _been_ my morals. It wasn't just I deserted the First Order. I deserted _them_. I … sometimes I wonder,” he added, in a whisper Poe had to strain to hear, “what's wrong with me that I couldn't put them first. Why I couldn't … make it all work out. Maybe if I had just tried harder … I don't know.”

Poe took a deep breath, feeling in his bones the years between himself and Finn. _Where do you go for absolution_ , he thought, _when you have no faith?_ Poe himself had been raised with simple beliefs: a beneficent Force permeated all things and all things would come into balance with it if allowed. It wasn't a complicated doctrine, but it permitted him to see evil acts as an aberration and to take comfort in the thought that any wrong he did could be ameliorated by amends and right decisions going forward. Finn, he suspected, had no such path to self-forgiveness and certainly no way to beg forgiveness from those he believed he had injured.

“What you've said before, about why you left – at Jakku, when they ordered you to kill – would trying harder have made it okay to shoot those people?” he asked, weighing his words.

“What? No! That doesn't even make sense.”

“That wasn't about trying, was it? It was about you making a choice.”

“Okay,” Finn said, still looking confused.

“So what choice did Zeroes and Nines make?”

“I don't understand.”

“Did they shoot?”

“Yes?”

“At that moment, when you had to decide, you made one decision, and they made another. That's not something you fix, or change, by trying harder. They weren't you,” Poe added simply, “and they weren't going to be.”

“Maybe I should have taught them to be. I was squad leader. I was responsible for them.”

“How would you have done that? With the First Order telling them they did the right thing, and all the other Stormtroopers telling them they did the right thing. Did they respect you that much?”

“They didn't respect me at all,” Finn admitted. “Nines was always jealous that he didn't get named squad leader and Zeroes was his friend. They both thought Nines would have made a better squad leader. Even Slip didn't respect me, I think. I was just that lousy a Stormtrooper.”

“Guess it's a good thing you left there and came to someplace people can appreciate you.”

“Thanks,” Finn said and smiled tightly. Poe was entirely certain he said it out of politeness, not agreement. He went back to his grass stems, unsure what else to say. 

“So how come we're different?” Finn asked after a moment. “How come I didn't shoot and you … you didn't stay to take orders either? Even though we're both here taking orders now.”

“You and me,” Poe said thoughtfully, “we care about people. To me, that's nothing strange, but I think you're pretty amazing, the way you care. The First Order told you not to. They told you Stormtroopers were sub-human and didn't deserve to be cared for. But you did anyway. You do. You're one of the most … intensely loyal people I think I've ever met.”

Finn stared at him, wide-eyed. “How can you say that? When I ran out on my squadmates?”

“When have you ever run out on someone you chose to be loyal to?” Finn's eyes were practically crossing as he tried to process this thought. “Tell me,” Poe said, “who else have you ever run out on?”

It was almost comical, watching as Finn visibly wracked his brain for some further evidence of his untrustworthy character. “I can't think of anything right now,” he muttered.

“That's because there's nothing to think of,” Poe said, “and I bet if you asked Rey she'd agree with me.”

A wretched expression came over Finn's face. “I ran out on Rey,” he said, shame making his voice jagged and thin. 

“How?” Poe demanded. “When?”

“On Takodana. Before the Stormtroopers arrived. She wanted to go on to the Resistance with Solo and Chewbacca, to deliver BB-8 back home, and I wouldn't go. I wished her well, but I wouldn't go with her. I arranged to work for passage to the Outer Rim, and I was getting ready to leave when the First Order attacked.”

_I don't have enough degrees to untangle this_ , Poe thought. Aloud, he said, “Walk me through what happened,” because degrees or no, he had shepherded quite a number of young pilots through the aftermath of their first real screw-ups.

Finn took a deep breath and began reciting, his face radiating misery, but his voice calm as he fell into the rhythm of debriefing, facts unspooling in measured sequence. He told about arriving at Takodana and about meeting with Maz. He told about Maz's terrifyingly keen-eyed appraisal. He told about arguing with Rey, about his fear of the First Order, his decision to leave Rey, and Solo and Chewbacca, to let them bring BB-8 to the Resistance, while he fled his past. He had not, Poe noticed, accused himself of betraying Solo and Chewbacca, though they were being left behind as much as Rey was. He told about the attack by the First Order, about finding himself helpless when Rey needed him, about fighting to get to her without success.

“That was your betrayal?” Poe asked, his voice as measured and even as Finn's had been. “That you couldn't get to her?”

“That I hadn't stayed to defend her in the first place. If I'd been with her, maybe she wouldn't have been taken at all.”

_I know this one_ , Poe thought with relief. He had fallen victim to it himself, many times. “Rey's quite an impressive woman,” he commented. “At least, she seemed so to me.”

Finn snorted, even smiled a little. “Yeah, she's something else.”

Poe ignored the little stab of jealousy, so petty, so unworthy. “Those people on Jakku, they're no joke. You said she was protecting BB-8, when you found him?”

“It was a little market town, I guess. She kept anyone from messing with BB-8.”

“But she let you just take him.”

“Oh, no. I told you that, man! She beat me up. I tried to run away from her, and she chased after me, knocked my feet right out from under me.” He shook his head. “She's scary, when she's mad. I didn't even know her, and I knew I had to run from her.”

“But she needed you to steal the Falcon.”

“Well,” Finn said, confused, “she's the one who really stole it. I gunned for her, though.”

“Ah,” Poe said, nodding sagaciously. “She probably couldn't have gotten Solo or Chewbacca to do that, for her.”

“What are you talking about? That was Solo's ship!”

Poe pasted a puzzled look on his own face. “So, at what point did she give the impression she needed you to keep her safe?”

“When Ren took her! I couldn't do anything!”

“But you tried,” Poe murmured.

“Well, yeah, of course!” Finn said, stung. “Of course I tried!”

“At the very first moment it became clear she did need you, you didn't run away. You ran towards,” he said softly.

Finn opened his mouth to argue and nothing came out.

Poe let him soak it in for a few moments. “You're reasoning after the fact,” he said kindly. “You can't judge your decisions before based on information you didn't have until after.”

“I knew my squad needed me,” Finn protested. “Slip needed me. He could never keep ….” He covered his face with his hands, then, and doubled forward in an anguish he somehow had never truly felt in all the months since that night on Jakku. Poe leaned against him, put an arm around his shoulders, and let the warmth of his presence give the only comfort he had to offer. Finn rocked into his side and keened his pain.

Eventually, Finn sagged back to lay on the grass, too worn out to sit up any longer. He wiped his nose, snuffling against the tears. “How'd you learn all this stuff?” he muttered.

“Ask me again in another ten years.”

They stayed in silence for a bit. Finn breathed in the humid night air, while Poe finished his mat of greenery and started a new one. “So,” Finn said at last, “you're telling me I'm not a hopeless loss as a squadmate.”

“Yep,” Poe said succinctly. “In fact, I'd bet you're pretty awesome as a squadmate. You just need to be able to pick your own squad.”

“I'm trying to picture twelve-year-old me knowing who to pick to be attached to for the rest of my life. I don't think I'd have done a good job of it.”

“When I was a kid,” Poe said, “my father told me I shouldn't pick a spouse until I was twenty-five. Of course, he got married when he was twenty-one, and my parents did pretty well together, so I've always figured he didn't really have any right to lecture me on that one.”

“You're over twenty-five now,” Finn pointed out. “How come you never got married?”

Poe was silent a little too long. “I guess I was waiting to find someone who looked at the universe the way I did,” he said at last. Maybe he shouldn't have said that, because now Finn was looking at him like he'd just gotten smacked upside the head, but hell, it was true, and Poe didn't have the energy to come up with a convincing lie. “It's getting dark,” he said, unsure even as he said it whether he was taking pity on Finn or on himself, “we should probably go in.”

“Okay,” Finn said and led the way into the base.


	9. Epilogue

The next time Poe was able to speak with his father ….

 

“Papi, I've got a question for you. When I was little, how come you put a bell on that harness, instead of a tracker?”

“You're worried about this _now_?”

Poe laughed. “I was telling someone about it and then I started thinking.”

“Well in that case … we did put a tracker on it. But as long as you thought it was the bell, you never went looking for the tracker. We were afraid you'd find a way to smash it or scrape it off, if you knew it was there.”

“I wouldn't have done that!”

“This from the kid who used to hold the bell to keep it from ringing as he was sneaking off.”

“Well … maybe ….”

 


End file.
